


to break, to mend, to flourish

by spymursclause



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade
Genre: Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28538706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spymursclause/pseuds/spymursclause
Summary: Louise had warned Klein of that much when he had gotten better at archery instead of going down the sorcery path that Clarine was choosing. Mages and healers were targets too but it was a gruesome trend — of archers being wiped by the first attacks in an attempt to rid them of long distance attack and defence. “If Prince Myrddin was still here, this would have never happened.” Clarine regretted her words immediately after she blurted them out.Something in Klein’s expression flickered before he schooled it.“But he’s gone now—” if Clarine hadn’t been listening closely, she would have missed the pain that tinged his voice, barely there, hidden under layers of carefully manufactured calmness, “—and the court has spoken. I’ll serve my country the best I can and try to preserve the place Myrddin loved so much.”
Kudos: 4
Collections: Live To Serve Zine





	to break, to mend, to flourish

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this piece for the [Live To Serve](https://twitter.com/Live2ServeZine) zine!

I. Unseen Scars

Klein had a bad shoulder. Clarine had known even before he became an archer, from the way he winced when the cold snaps swept over their estate, or how he always had to roll it a couple times after lending it to her for a nap. He never complained, his easy smile gracing his lips whenever she asked why and shook his head in response. 

And it was nothing her healing magic could ever get rid of — only alleviate until the next bout came back. 

“He fell,” Dieck answered solemnly when she had cornered him one day while Klein and her mother were out hunting and her father in his study, a chance to get him alone where no one would interrupt her, demanding answers that not even her parents would provide, “into the arena pit when he was younger.”

“He fell,” Clarine repeated dubiously, “over a stone wall that was taller than him when he was that young?”

Dieck’s stoney face wavered, like he hadn’t been expecting her to question him. Then his expression softened. Dieck was always respectful of her, more so than others and he never mocked or belittled her no matter what she did or said.

“You ever wonder why the young lord has a bodyguard but you don’t?” 

Clarine shook her head — never had wondered, was overjoyed in fact, it seemed so  _ annoying _ to have someone watching your every move, following you everywhere you went. But she did know why some nobles had bodyguards.

Royalty had swathes of them for a specific reason too. It was easy to guess. 

“He was dropped. Someone tried to assassinate him.” Dieck lifted a shoulder, neither a rejection nor confirmation of her deduction and looked over her shoulder. She followed his gaze, to Klein speaking with their mother while they trotted through the gates up on their horses, bows and quivers slung over their shoulders, the results of the day’s hunting carried in after them.

“He never talks about it,” Dieck said suddenly, “even to me when I was the one who fished him out of there. He says he fell, but we all know that isn’t true. You know how he is, tight lipped and quiet even when he’s in pain.”

Clarine huffed, crossing her arms in an attempt to keep the biting cold away until Dieck dropped his cloak around her. She wrapped it around herself, shaking her head when Dieck flipped the hood up, covering her eyes. “But why? He was just a child.” 

“He’s the heir of this house. The lord and lady, while eccentric to other nobles, are powerful. The young lord has potential to be even greater than them. Who wouldn’t want to kill him?” 

Clarine fell silent, trying not to answer and followed the horses that were now cantering towards the stables instead. Dieck walked to match her pace, pausing every couple of steps as she struggled to wade through the snow.

Her mother was seemingly goading Klein into a race even though her brother shook his head, halfheartedly urging his horse forward anyways — a kind of indulgence he often offered to his family. Fine white powder was kicked up in their wake, Louise’s horse edging ahead before Klein let out an explosive whoop at the last moment, barely inching out a victory before he halted in front of Clarine, dismounting with a grace that Clarine envied.

“Klein,” she greeted, holding her head high while crossing her arms, holding the image for a split second before the oversized hood fell into her eyes. “Welcome back.” Klein lifted the hood for her, peering at her with a gentle smile and she squinted, realizing that he wasn’t all that tall. She almost reached his shoulders. “Did you shrink?”

“I think you grew,” he answered mildly, folding the hood back so it wouldn’t fall back over her eyes. “Shall we go indoors so Dieck can get his cloak back?” 

And as they strode back towards the estate, where warmth and food awaited, she slipped her hand into his and noticed how he rolled his shoulder stiffly every once in a while.

“Do you want me to help you with that later?”

“If you want,” he said, in that same mild tone that he used often with her, a smile creeping on his face, “but I think it’s nothing a hot bath won’t fix. Pulled it again trying to get a deer, that’s all.”

“Right,” Clarine echoed.  _ Right _ . She casted her gaze around to look at the hunting party and her mother, frowning when she realized there were no kills that they had brought back and that they were much too roughed up for any normal hunting party. Unless they had been hunting boars. But Klein and her mother didn’t fancy hunting boars. And no one had brought spears. 

She glanced at Dieck. Dieck looked away.

* * *

II. Poison

“They can’t do that!” Clarine stared furiously at the letter that had immediately drained the colour of Klein’s face when he had read it. They had sent their ‘condolences’ for Prince Myrddin’s death before sliding in the little line where they had appointed the previously empty position of Archer General to Klein. 

“Actually, Clarine, they can.” Klein sounded distant, distracted even as Clarine waved the piece of paper angrily in the air that decreed he was now the Archer General. “They’re the court.”

“You’re  _ nineteen _ ! And you’re the court too!” 

Clarine was aware that none of this was lady-like. Not standing up on her chair, not raising her voice at her brother, and certainly not stepping onto the table when he didn’t even look in her direction, but she didn’t care enough about that for now.

Klein remained silent, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the table, his food untouched. 

“Well you know how it is,” he said in a blasé tone that chilled her to the core.  _ No, I don’t know how it is,  _ she wanted to say. But she did. Everyone did. Good people didn’t last. “They don’t like me all that much and archers tend to die first.”

Louise had warned Klein of that much when he had gotten better at archery instead of going down the sorcery path that Clarine was choosing. Mages and healers were targets too but it was a gruesome trend — of archers being wiped by the first attacks in an attempt to rid them of long distance attack and defence. “If Prince Myrddin was still here, this would have never happened.” Clarine regretted her words immediately after she blurted them out. 

Something in Klein’s expression flickered before he schooled it.

“But he’s gone now—” if Clarine hadn’t been listening closely, she would have missed the pain that tinged his voice, barely there, hidden under layers of carefully manufactured calmness, “—and the court has spoken. I’ll serve my country the best I can and try to preserve the place Myrddin loved so much.” 

The hollow way he spoke — he was always like this now, ever since he’d gone to court, worse now that he’d just lost one of his best friends — filled her with dread. It was like a creaking dam that was failing fast. And there wasn’t a single thing to mend it in sight.

She walked across the table, stopping in front of his food, nudging it aside with her boot. “Klein.”

“Yes?”

“Have you cried yet?”

“... Cried?” he said faintly, finally looking up at her. 

“For Myrddin.”

“N… No… I don’t need…” He trailed off, head dipping again. 

Clarine sighed. Crouching down, she grasped his face and tilted his head up, brushing his golden hair away from his eyes. They were so  _ dull _ now, a sickly purple instead of the bright lavender she’d seen so much as a child. She now understood why her parents had not gone to court — and why they’d protested when she and Klein had declared they would try. 

It was killing him. He was not one for the courts of poisoned words and cutthroat relationships. Too honest, too kind, with little ambition to rise higher than he was — too much energy spent helping others instead protecting himself.

He was too easily devoured by the ones that were more ambitious than he was.

“Klein…”

“I can’t.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she murmured, covering his eyes with one of her hands. “I’ll cover my ears and close my eyes. No one will ever know.” 

“ _ I can’t _ .” His voice cracked — she hadn’t heard it do that in  _ years _ and he took in a shuddering breath.

“Klein. This isn’t the court. This is your home. I’m your sister. You’re allowed,” her head snapped towards the door when it opened, one of the maids peeking in before she waved her hand to shoo her out, “to be you here. Don’t you ever forget that. You’re a Reglay.”

“Right,” he said faintly, “and what does that mean in a world where being a Reglay means you’re the enemy?” Clarine was at a loss for words, stumped by the question. She wished her parents were here with them, maybe they would be able to comfort him more eloquently than she could, soothe his fears and make him feel  _ safe _ .

She could only hug him. Klein cried mutedly, tears rolling down his face as he silently grieved and suffered all the same, like he was fearful that if he let out a noise, the court would hear him in his moment of weakness.

* * *

III. Mask 

“ _ Take a headcount now! _ ” Clarine surged forward only to be pushed back by the hordes of wounded soldiers pouring back into the medical tent after the battle. “Let me know our losses and the amount of wounded! And make sure we start triaging for the healers!” Klein’s voice carried clearly even above the din of the chaos that was ensuing after a plan that didn’t go too well. 

Clarine wished she could see him — she didn’t even know if  _ he _ knew she was here; would he be so calm if he did? She turned back to the wounded first, putting her magic to work. The stench of blood, and other unsavoury smells makes her gut roil and she hoped she would be able to keep her lunch. 

A patter of feet sounded right outside the tent. “General,” there went the Dieck again, ever steady and unwavering even after so many years, “you are  _ injured _ .”

“It’s just a scratch, Dieck, I’m fine. Take a headcount first.” 

“General,” there was a tick of anger in Dieck’s voice, “you’re bleeding through your bandages.” The tent flap opened and Dieck dragged Klein in, the smaller man trying to twist out of the mercenary’s grasp. Clarine twisted her neck, trying to get a good look at him. Her heart dropped when she caught sight of his ripped clothing, the sloppy looking bandage job on his ribs almost completely soaked with red. 

He looked too pale.

“ _ Klein _ .” Dieck shoved him towards the closest empty stretcher and Clarine winced with Klein when Dieck jostled him a little rougher than he should have. 

“Oh, so  _ now _ it’s Klein instead of General or Master Klein?” Klein sounded like he was on the verge of snapping and Clarine grabbed the closest medic to her, gesturing at them to finish the job before rushing towards Klein.

She skidded to a stop between them and Klein’s expression changed almost instantly, attention switching from Dieck to her. “Brother!” she half yelled, trying to sound happy. 

Dieck muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a string of profanity under his breath before slipping away. 

Klein stared at her, mouth dropping open before he composed himself.

She stared back.

“Please tell me,” Klein said faintly, possibly with a touch of anger, while growing even more pale than he was before, “that this is the blood loss finally making me hallucinate.” 

Clarine leaned forward to poke his injured side instead of replying, frowning when he recoiled. She reached for his overcoat, forcing it off him so she could get a better look at the wound. He sat there quietly, not saying a thing when she peeled away the bandages (it looked like a hasty patch up job by someone in a rush — perhaps even Klein himself). “Thought you would be happy to see me.” She tried not to scream when she finally saw the wound, large and deep across his ribs — not life threatening but bad enough that just  _ bandages _ would have eventually killed him with infection if the blood loss didn’t do it first. 

“I wish you weren’t here,” Klein finally admitted, voice neutral even when she pressed a warm towel against the wound to clean it. “It’s dangerous. You’re not trained for this yet.” His voice was detached and cool, staring straight ahead despite his whitening knuckles as he curled his hands into fists. 

Clarine glared at him. “Are you implying that I’m a liability?”

“You could be. You can’t even fight, Clarine.”

“I’ve been learning.”

“Learning while being held prisoner?” So he knew — and somehow that made her angrier.

Her anger flared; Klein had never treated her like this, it felt he wasn’t even him anymore. “What is  _ wrong  _ with you?” Her voice came out much longer and shriller than she intended and the tent fell silent in lieu of her outburst.

Perceval swooped in to the rescue, plucking Klein off the stretcher and grabbing Clarine by the wrist (“There is sufficient medical supplies in his own personal tent,” he had whispered aggressively while dragging them both across the camp.) before dumping Klein onto his cot when they reached Klein’s tent.

Perceval stayed while Clarine treated Klein — brought in another medic at one point to help but said nothing until Clarine sat back, slapping her hands away from her face, brushing her hair back for her before pointing at the wash basin. Clarine realized her hands were covered in Klein’s blood. 

She murmured her thanks, watched as the medic finished up the job and waited until Klein fell asleep, dazed and tired from blood loss and battle before shuffling closer to him, his earlier remarks still stinging a little. 

“His soldiers are blessed to be under him,” Perceval said suddenly, pulling a blanket over him. “He cares much for their lives, more than most nobles.”

“Of course he does, he’s my brother. He treats everyone equally.” 

“He’s changed, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“No,” she rebutted, staring at his face — worn and thin, no doubt from the stress of war but still lined with the soft kindness he always wore. He couldn’t hide that when he was asleep. “He hasn’t. He’s still the same Klein I knew when the court dragged him out to war. He’s just…” She paused, trying to find the right word.

Perceval pondered with her, drew a piece of paper from his pouch, held it in his hand like it could burn him. “Afraid?” he offered, turning it over in his hands until he held it out towards Clarine instead of tucking it under Klein’s pillow. “After all… he is just nineteen, and the fate of men and possibly the nation lies in the decisions he makes. It makes sense. I never thought about it though, he just seemed to adjust so well. And he never said anything to me, even cracking jokes with me. He said I forgot how to smile.” 

“My brother is a liar,” Clarine laughed, “but not for his own sake.” She wished she could be bitter about that but that was part of his charm, part of what made him so  _ likeable _ . She simply wished it was less so instead. “So, what is this?” She held the paper, holding it up in the candlelight.

“His headcount.”

It suddenly felt heavier and she dropped her arm to her lap. Such a small piece of paper. Just numbers in ink yet they could pack such a devastating blow.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want to watch his face when he reads the number.”

“So you want me to give it to him?” 

“Maybe,” Perceval’s voice was wry and tired, “he will not be mad at you if you’re the one that is concealing the number from him.” He rose, ruffled her hair until she smacked it away, reaching for her staff threateningly. He put his hands up and left without another word, leaving her with her brother and the paper that could tear him to shreds. 

She unfolded it, read the number with a muted kind of horror — so war was like  _ this _ .

She glanced at Klein. And then she held the piece of paper over a candle, watching the flames eat up at the parchment. 

When he woke up and she was mending his wound again in the early hours of the day before the sun had quite risen, their breath billowing white clouds as they huffed trying to stay warm, he cast a look at the candles that flickered weakly, eyeing the ash, lips twitching like he didn’t know whether to get angry or not. Clarine waited with bated breath, bracing herself for the worse.

“Did you  _ burn _ my headcount?” He was softer today, less of the muted anger he had yesterday.

“Well…”

“ _ Clarine _ …”

“You don’t have to shoulder every death that happens on your watch. It’s not like you didn’t try your best.” 

She held his gaze stubbornly, refused to look away even as displeasure flashed through his eyes just for a moment. 

She took a deep breath, praying to whatever god would listen before she started her tangent. “You’re going to destroy yourself before this war is over. Look at you! Do you eat? Sleep enough? You’re like a stick! You look like an old man with how haggard your face is. You act like you’re the only one that makes the decisions around here when it comes to battle. How do you know that it was  _ your _ choices and not others that makes a plan go awry? People are their own person you know? They mess up too, trust me, you are not the only one that makes bad decisions.” She would have added a  _ look at me _ but she felt like that wouldn’t help, reminding him of what she had done to get here.

Klein leaned forward to clamp a hand one her mouth, glancing outside of the tent worriedly and Clarine winced, realizing she’d gotten too loud again. The flap opened and Dieck peered in, saw them sitting together and retreated without a word. 

“You’re right,” Klein finally admitted quietly when the flap closed again. “I just…”

“If that was you instead, lying in a wood coffin waiting to be taken back to our estate for burial, I would be devastated. Imagine how Mother and Father would feel too. Don’t wish it was you instead.” She held his hand, wondering when he’d come to value his life so little. “Could you at least loosen up? I don’t know if you’re going to send me back, I hope you don’t but take care of yourself. This isn’t the court either, there are people who care for you right by your side. Don’t act like you’re all on your lonesome.” 

Klein nodded slowly before leaning against her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said softly, shoulders slackening, “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I’m glad you’re here.”

* * *

IV. Freedom

An arrow thunked into the bull’s eye. And then another. The third missed by a margin, Klein groaning the moment he loosed the arrow, like he knew he had already made a mistake. 

“I’m rusty.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Clarine squinted up at the sun, shifted over until she was sitting in the shade of a tree, wiping sweat off her forehead before it could drip onto the book she was reading. Silently, she wondered when Klein would take off his overcoat or at least shed some of his layers. “It’s a good thing you haven’t needed to use your bow, is it not? And that’s still two out of three, if that was an enemy the third arrow would have still hit and they would be good for intel since they’d be alive.”

Klein nodded in response to her words, finally slipping his overcoat off, dropping it to the ground. “I am still the Archer General,” he muttered woefully, taking a seat next to her. “I shouldn’t get lax with my skills just because the war has ended. There’s still much work to be done.”

“Well the court is no longer really there… And there’s not much need for an Archer General at the moment. I’m sure a replacement could be found if you chose to go elsewhere.”

“Well that would take time. We can’t just pull another Archer General out of thin air.”

“It will take time so we can start now. You would be happier away from this position anyways. Not that you’re bad at it,” Clarine was hasty to add in that response, not sure how her brother still felt about his competence in the war. He was getting better when it came to telling her about how he felt, but still tight lipped and stubborn at times. “But I think you would be happier elsewhere. Somewhere you want to be, instead of a position that was forced onto you. A position you took because you felt a sense of obligation to this country.” 

Klein stared off into the distance, where their parents were strolling through the gardens looking like they didn’t have a care in the world. 

In a way she supposed they were like Klein — good at covering up their worries and struggles with the image of put together nobles but at least they had each other. And they weren’t half as stupid about hiding their pain. 

Klein was tracing his fingers over the etching on his bow, he’d kept the same one throughout the war miraculously, even though Clarine had seen her fair share of bows shatter and break. It had been shiny and silver when he had first taken it out of the armoury, a gift from their mother. He had taken care of it but he couldn’t help the worn look it had, the surface scratched with marks he couldn’t polish or smooth away, leather grip dark and stained with sweat. 

She remembered watching him struggle with drawing it at first, the weapon too unused and not yet broken in for him to use easily and now he made it look effortless. 

He looked wistful, as if echoing her thoughts.

“I did… I did think about becoming an ambassador before this whole Archer General thing. I would like to travel, meet new and old friends without needing them to come to me. And forge connections with other countries. I think I’d be okay at it.” He sounded apprehensive, like he was still trying to convince himself. 

Clarine turned over another page, squinting down at the words before shutting her look, bookmarking the page. 

“You never know until you try right? You’d be happier anywhere but where you are right now. You’ve got a way with words, that much is true.”

Klein smiled wryly. His face had finally started filling out again, no longer gaunt and stressed. “Perceval’s going to miss me.” 

“Perceval can come any time if he isn’t lazy. He belongs on the battlefield.” She reached out, touched the space on his side that she knew still bore the scar from that particularly nasty wound she’d had to heal. She wondered if it ached like his shoulder did. “You don’t. Don’t stay for anyone. Grasp what you want for the first time in life. You’ve got the chance to be free, do what you want, don’t waste it.”

Klein was silent for a long time, still fiddling with the string of his bow.

Then, he spoke, still uncertain but with a little more conviction. “I’ll put in an application. And speak with the others then. Make sure you take care of yourself and don’t slack when I’m gone. I still expect you to succeed father as the Sorcery General.” His tone was light when he finished, grinning at her with a wide smile that made her feel warm. She felt she hadn’t seen it in years.

She shook her head instead of rebutting.

“Klein.” They both jumped, unaware their parents had gotten so close. Louise peered down at them, bow in hand. “Care for a competition?”

Klein groaned.

“You might be retiring but it doesn’t help to keep your skills sharp, don’t slack!” Clarine imitated him the best she could, falling over when he pushed her shoulder gently, catching Pent’s eye as stifled a smile.

Klein heaved out another groan, clambering to his feet as his silent agreement to their mother’s challenge. “Don’t say retiring. Please.”

“Love you!” She waited until he took up his position, pulling back for his first shot as their mother waited. “Hope you find someone to share your life with soon too. You are getting a little old, aren’t you?”

Klein’s first shot went wide.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: [spymursclause](https://twitter.com/spymursclause) where i occasionally cry over klein and clarine


End file.
